I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas
by TheREALCarbyLove
Summary: Back by popular demand! Or no demand at all. But this is a Christmas Eve story so I thought I would re-post it for anyone who missed it the first time. Enjoy!


Title: I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Summary: Carby fluff set a few years down the road on Christmas Eve. Abby waxes not so poetic about life, love, and the weather. 

Author: Andrea

E-mail: CarbyLove@aol.com

Disclaimer: THEY'RE MINE!! I stole them! Take that, EvilOrman. It was remarkably easy to hijack these characters because I had a manbitch as a wheelman … all I had to tell him was "I think I see a lady bug" and we were out of there in record time. (Hey, Catherine) 

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I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

" Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse … " 

There's an eruption of giggles and I turn to see what's so funny. Oh, he's doing his best mouse face, complete with the wrinkled up nose. It gets them every time. Watching them, I can't help but laugh myself. This is turning out to be the perfect little Christmas. It wasn't so long ago that the holidays were a bittersweet reminder for me, as often as not leading me to ignore their existence. But not anymore. Everything is different now. Because of him. Because of them. 

I'm pulled out of my reverie by a little voice calling to me, "Mommy, come sit down. It's time to read _Twas the Night Before Christmas_, and you're gonna miss the whole thing." 

I look over at three impatient faces waiting for me to come and take my place on the couch. The girls in their matching red and green plaid nightgowns and their father, with the book in one hand and the baby in the other, all anxiously waiting for me. 

"Well, we can't have that can we, Em?" I say to my four-year-old as I pull myself away from the window. 

"Now Daddy has to start over." Emily informs me as I take fourteen-month-old Matthew from his father's arms, allowing the girls to scramble into their Daddy's lap. 

I sit down next to John and the girls, snuggling Matty in my arms. My baby. Well, at least for the next few months, a constant fluttering in my stomach reminds me. Honestly, I don't know how this happened. Maybe this is what happens when addicts get together. I know I'm addicted to my babies, but I'm beginning to worry that I'm addicted to having babies. It's like we started, and now we can't stop. And I'm pretty sure we know what's causing it … and there's no way we're gonna stop that. Still, sooner or later we're gonna run out of room in the mini-van. Yes … a mini-van. If you'd have told me five years ago where I would be today, I would have laughed and maybe called you a psych consult. It wasn't so long ago that I though having four kids period was a bit insane. But in a matter of months, I'll have four kids -- four kids in five years? Didn't I once tell a patient that four kids under eight was "ambitious" ? Well, this is what I get for opening my big mouth. But if there's ever a time that it's great to have a houseful of kids, it's at Christmas. 

"You okay?" John asks me over the top of the girls' curly chestnut hair.

"Yeah, of course." I answer in all honesty. Why wouldn't I be? Christmas Eve with my beautiful children and my wonderful husband, what could be better? In fact, there's only one thing missing to truly make this the perfect Christmas. Snow. Growing up in Minnesota, a white Christmas was almost a guarantee. Around here it seems like we never get a white Christmas. Either it snows two weeks before and we are left with nothing more than dirty slush by Christmas. Or, like this year, it is unseasonably warm at Christmas. It just doesn't quite feel like Christmas without snow. 

"Well, the way you were staring out the window, I thought maybe something was wrong." 

"Nope, I was just watching for Santa."

"Did you see him?" Emily asks with a hopeful glint in her eye. 

"No, he's not out there yet … lucky for you."

"What do you mean?" Emmy asks me, all wide-eyed innocence. 

"I mean that you're lucky Santa isn't here yet. After all, you aren't in bed yet. And you know what happens if Santa comes by and finds out you girls aren't asleep … "

"No presents?" Em gives me the puppy dog eyes so reminiscent of her father.

"You got it, babe."

"Daddy" she says, turning to look earnestly at her father, "You better read fast." 

We can't help but laugh. But before John can even open the book, Alison tugs on my sleeve. 

"Mommy, is it snowing yet? Mommy wants snow for Christmas, Daddy." 

Ah, my little Ally. A year younger than her sister, she is a complete carbon-copy of Emily with the same wavy brown hair and big brown eyes. Everyone says how much they look like me. And Emily seems to have inherited a lot of my personality traits as well. But Alison, she's just like her father. Sweet and gentle and sensitive. It doesn't surprise me at all that she remembers my oft-expressed wish for a white Christmas.

"Not yet, baby." I tell her, ruffling her hair. "But that's okay, it's still Christmas, even without snow." I can't help but sound a little wistful. I know this Christmas will be wonderful with or without snow, but I still want that Currier and Ives look, where the all the ugliness in the world is made beautiful by a dusting of snowflakes. 

"Well, there's still time. It could snow before morning. So maybe Mommy will get her Christmas wish, after all." My eternally optimistic husband offers. Yeah, and I might hop on Santa's sleigh and become his right-hand-elf, but I'm hardly counting on it.

"Daddy," Emmy says in her most exasperated voice, "Read. Please." 

With a chuckle he opens the book up, and in his most dramatic voice, begins reading the poem that's a tradition in so many homes. And as I settle back against the couch, my baby in my lap, my head on my husband's shoulder, my little girls close by, I'm incredibly glad to finally be a part of a family tradition. 

****

"Well, they're all finally out." I look up from my post by the window where I'm still straining to see a snowflake or two, and I see John practically skipping into the family room. Even from across the room, I can see the twinkle in his eye. Sometimes I'm not sure who gets more excited about Christmas -- the kids or Carter. "Come on, Ab … let's get to it." 

"You really love playing Santa, don't you?" I ask as I wander past the festively lit tree and over toward my husband.

"Yep." He says with a definitive nod, turning me to face the tree and wrapping his arms around me from behind. "Christmas is just so much fun. The tree, the lights, the songs, the gifts. And watching the kids' faces light up when they walk in the room on Christmas morning …" his voice trails away, having gone from excited to thoughtful within that one sentence. His hand trails absent-mindedly over the bulge under my Christmas pjs, the bulge that is our new baby. 

"There's no feeling that can quite match it, is there?" I ask, wrapping my hand around his hand that caresses my round belly, understanding perfectly what he means. For so long both of us struggled to find some sense of belonging, some place to call to home, a family. And in the end, we found each other and made that perfect little family that we both always wanted. In the chaos of a normal day, it's easy to forget just how lucky we are, but the special days are the ones that bring it home for us. That remind us, in no uncertain terms, all that we have to be grateful for. I turn around in his embrace and hug him tightly, burying my head in his chest for a moment before looking up at him through the tears that have suddenly gathered in my eyes.

"Abby? Are you crying? There's no crying on Christmas. It's not allowed." 

"It's not Christmas yet." I say with sniffle. 

"Well, it will be in exactly four minutes, so you better do all your crying now. Come on, hurry up … get all those tears out now, while there's still time." 

I laugh at this. Sometimes he can be such a dork. But he always makes me laugh. God I love him. I grab his hand a lead him out of the room. "Come on, let get those gifts." 

****

A couple hours and a few dozen gifts later, I look around the family room. Santa has definitely paid a visit to this house. Or maybe the tree exploded. "Now are these gifts for three kids or three hundred?" I can't help but ask, thinking of the rather sparse Christmases of my childhood. White Christmases, big on snow, but short on gifts.

He just gives me a famous Carter grin, while putting the finishing touches on a cute little red wagon. "Every little boy needs a dog and a wagon," he'd told me when we were out shopping for the kids' gifts. I convinced him to wait on the dog, but in spite of the fact that Matthew can barely walk, he'll be getting his wagon for Christmas. Just a little one, perfect for carrying his teddy bear and beloved baby blue blanket, his "ba-ba." Of course, knowing Matthew, he'll probably try to use the wagon as a step stool so he can climb all the places he's not allowed. And knowing his sisters, they might think it's fun to teach him how to 'skate' on his wagon. Nevertheless, Carter was determined … and there's no messing with that legendary Carter stubbornness, as I am reminded three times over every day in the sweet, but stubborn, faces of my children. Because they certainly don't get _that_ from me. 

"Don't be a spoil sport, Mommy … it's Christmas." He says to me now, as he surveys the enormous pile of gifts. 

"I know … but I don't want to spoil them. And don't call me 'Mommy.'"

"Christmas only comes once a year. I don't think it will spoil them too much. And besides … tomorrow it's right back to bread and water cleaning the fireplace for them."

"Ha ha. I'm serious. I don't want them growing up thinking that they can always have exactly what they want. That's not how life works, you know." 

"Sometimes it is." He says, putting the now-finished wagon aside and pulling me onto his lap. "We're living proof. Aren't we?" 

"Yeah." I smile in spite of myself. How is it that he always has this affect on me? "Where would I be without you?"

"Well, I'm guess you wouldn't be in the middle of a room that looks like Toys 'R' Us came into it and threw up."

"Probably not. And I also wouldn't have three kids that are going to wake me up in less than five hours and another one that on the way that is bound and determined to take over my entire body." 

"You call this a happy family? Why do we have to have all these kids?" He quotes in his very best Jimmy Stewart voice. I recognize the lines from It's a Wonderful Life since we'd just finished watching the movie a few minutes earlier. It's become a tradition to put it on while we arrange, wrap and assemble the children's gifts. And, in my case, wait for the elusive snow. 

"Hey, that was your idea, buster. You're the one who said he wanted six." 

"Well, you're the one who keeps getting pregnant." 

"Well, you're the one who keeps getting me pregnant." 

"Well, that's good to know. Hmm … so I guess this mess _is_ all my fault, huh?"

"Yep, it sure is." I look up at his smiling face and see the happiness reflected in his eyes. I know I must look exactly the same. "And I've been meaning to thank you for getting me into this mess for a while now. So …" I reach up and kiss him quickly. "… Thanks." He leans down and captures my lips, this time for a deeper, more lingering kiss. Sweet and passionate. It's good to know that all these years and three and half kids later, the magic is still there. However, there's no time to let this go any further, there's one more gift we have to get under the tree … okay, somewhere in the general vicinity of the tree. 

I pull away and smile seductively, taking him by the hand and pulling him to his feet as I stand up. 

"Come on …" I say, watching his face get an happy and expectant look to it. " … It's time to get the dollhouse." I watch his face fall in disappointment. 

"That was really cruel, you know." 

"I know. But if we hurry up and get these gifts under the tree …" 

That was about all it took to have him running out to the garage to retrieve the dollhouse. Or "that damn dollhouse" as we've come to think of it. When Emmy and Ally asked for a dollhouse for Christmas, I thought it would be a simple matter of going down to the toy store and picking one out. But then I made the mistake of mentioning their request to my husband , the romantic. And he decided that instead of something plastic and unbreakable, our preschoolers needed a "real" dollhouse. A wooden dollhouse. And he wanted to make it for them. Using a kit, at least. But of course he couldn't get the basic model. Not when he could get the Victorian Mansion. He seemed to think that a few nights in the garage with some glue and poster paints and the whole thing would be over and done with. Wrong. Luckily he started early because it's been months … _months_ of gluing and painting and building … I think we both could qualify for a degree in architecture at this point. But as he comes back in with the mansion in tow, I'm beginning to think it was worth it. It really is beautiful. And I had so much fun arranging the furniture and the little family -- a mom, dad, two sisters, a brother, and a baby … imagine that. Of course, the kids can't touch this masterpiece until they are old enough to vote, but that's okay … it looks pretty under the tree. 

"Wow." It's about the only comment I have at this point. 

"Yeah." 

"I wish I had had just one Christmas like this when I was a kid. And I'm so glad I can give my kids this kind of Christmas, even if it does mean spoiling them rotten."

"It's even better than last year." 

"Yeah, you got all your little boy toys under the tree this year."

"Huh?" 

"Remember? Last year when you were putting together the Little Tykes vanity for the girls and you said you couldn't wait until next year when there would be little boy toys under the tree?" While Carter put the girls' toys together, I'd held a newborn Matty in my arms. Unlike his sisters, he hadn't been content to nurse for a short time and then drift off to sleep for a few hours. He pretty much demanded constant access to his food supply. He couldn't get enough of me. Like father, like son, I guess. And while two-month-old Matthew had been a little young for fire trucks and ride-on tractors and footballs last year, this year was a different story. And suddenly there were lots of little boy things under the tree. Lots of things that 'Daddy' will probably enjoy a lot more than Matthew at this point. But whatever makes him happy. 

"Oh yeah. Now I remember. And look at all this stuff. This fire truck is pretty cool. And so is this ride-on toy … I love how it looks like a little motorcycle. How come we never got this stuff for the girls?" 

"Oh we did, it's just that it's all … pink." 

"Right. Well, it's nice to have something that isn't pink under the tree now."

"Variety is the spice of life, right?"

"What was that about 'spicing up' our life, Mrs. Carter?" 

"Don't tell me, you're looking for an early Christmas gift, Dr. Carter." 

"Oh, but Abby … it's already Christmas … so technically …"

"Just how sound asleep are those kids?"

"Oh, I told the girls that sometimes Santa makes lots of noise, but that no matter what, they can't get out of bed until the sun comes up or the presents will disappear."

"So …. you … basically … lied. To our children." 

"Yeah, kinda." 

"And now we've got a good five hours all to ourselves when the children aren't going to get out of bed, no matter what?"

"Yep …"

"Well, what are you waiting for? You go run the bath and I'll check on the kids." 

****

Angels. Perfect little angels. I check on the girls first. Sound asleep in their beds on opposite walls of their room. Their curly tresses spread out on their pillows, Emily sprawled out on her stomach and Alison curled up on her side, thumb resting on her pillow just inches from her slightly opened mouth. I straighten Emily's covers and smooth back her hair. Such a great kid. A real little mother, always looking out for her brother and sister. Smart and funny, she's my pal. My little girl. My first baby. 

And under my hand that smoothes my pajama top over the little bump, is my last. Maybe. I'd better not say it out loud. After all, when Emmy was born, I swore it would be a very long time before I would do that again. Four months later I found out I was pregnant with Alison. And after Ally, I said I need a nice long break before we even thought about trying for a little brother for our girls. When Matthew was born, both his sisters were still in diapers. And after Matty, I said absolutely, positively, no way was I having another baby. At least not before the three I already had were in school … like maybe medical school. In other words, it wasn't gonna happen. And look at me now. Oh well, yet another happy surprise. Sometimes I wonder what it's like to actually plan a pregnancy. Not that I'm complaining. They are all little miracles that I wouldn't trade for anything. Especially at night. And this night, when they are all nestled in the beds with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads, I've never been more grateful to have each and every one of them. 

I turn to Ally, who is snoring lightly. She really is her father's daughter. I smooth the hair back from her face and tuck her escaped "lovey," a scruffy bunny that she's had since she was a baby, back into bed with her. My sensitive child. The most likely to cry, but also the first one to comfort someone else's tears. Yeah, her father's daughter. I smile looking at the bunny which had been Emily's until the day her brand-new sister came home from the hospital and Em decided to give the bunny to 'her' new baby. I had been so worried that Emily wouldn't take very well to having a baby sister when she was still a baby herself. But from the moment she saw her "sissy," Emily loved her. And now they're inseparable. Not to mention practically identical. People ask all the time if they are twins. Irish twins, I usually answer with a laugh. John says they are me all over again, but I see so much of him in them, there's no doubt that they're the best of both of us. They have to be. After all, I've never seen such beautiful children before in my life. 

Including their baby brother, of course. I tiptoe into his room and peer into his crib. He sleeps with his legs pulled up under him and his little rump up in the air. Every time I check on him, I lay him down flat and cover him with his blanket, and every time I go back, he's back in that same position. My funny monkey. A clown already. And the picture of his father, but with dimples that he must have gotten from me. He's sucking noisily on his pacifier and clasping his security blanket tightly in his hand. I run my hand lightly over his back and feel his soft, even breathing. My sweet boy. I tiptoe back out of the room and go in search of his father, my other sweet boy. 

I find him in the bathroom, the bathtub filled with bubbles, cinnamon scented candles lit all around the room. Who needs sleep on Christmas when you can have a bath with your husband? That's about the best gift I could ask for. Well, that and a little snow. I mean, come on … Christmas is supposed to have snow. 

"At least the bubbles are white." 

"Still dreaming of your white Christmas, huh?" He asks as he moves over to me and begins unbuttoning my pajama top.

"I know it's silly. We never have a white Christmas any other time. And it really shouldn't matter. It's just …"

"Just what?" 

"Well, when I was a kid, I used to watch all those corny Christmas specials where everyone had the perfect family and the perfect Christmas. The perfect _white_ Christmas. All I ever had was the white part. And I always dreamed of having the rest of the perfect Christmas myself. And now I can. With you. And our babies. But part of me feels like it's not really Christmas … or at least, not the perfect Christmas, until the world is all covered in white. It's just so beautiful and peaceful … the way Christmas should be. I just want to wake up and see everything covered in white … just the way it always is on TV. Is that totally stupid?" 

"No, of course not." He reassures me as the two of us, now without the benefit of clothes, both climb into the nice warm tub. "And you know, you were a very good girl this year, so maybe Santa will bring you snow." I just give him a look. "Hey, it could still happen. Have a little faith." 

"Not exactly my strong suit, you know." 

"Yeah, I know …" He plants a soft little kiss on my neck. By now I've settled back against him in the tub. His hands are roaming lazily around my body, paying careful attention to the swell of my belly. "It's still amazing." He whispers.

"What?" 

"That there's a baby in there. You're growing a baby. A new life. And we created it. We turned nothing into a whole new person. We made a baby." 

I let my hand wander down to my belly, feeling the light flutters and occasional thumps from within. And suddenly I feel what can only be described as an honest-to-god kick. A good hard one, too. "Oh my God, did you feel that?" I ask with excitement. I don't care how many times I've been through this … this is always a thrill. One of the best moments of a pregnancy. It's moments like these that make me really glad that we can't seem to get the whole contraception thing down. I grab Carter's hand and move it to the place I felt the kick. "The baby's kicking." 

"Really? Real kicks? Right now?" 

"Uh-huh." We wait in silence for a moment. Talk about a pregnant pause. And then it happens, we push a little on my belly, and the baby kicks right back. 

"Oh my God. Abby … wow. I mean, wow. Talk about good timing. That's the best Christmas gift you could have given me."

"I'm glad you like it. It's all I got you." I can't help but say with a smile, as I look back to see his face.

He smiles back. "It's all I need. Just you and this baby that we made together."

"And the other three babies that we made together."

"Yeah. Thank you." 

"No, thank you." 

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Merry Christmas, Abby."

"Merry Christmas, Carter." 

Our lips meet in a sweet kiss which quickly turns passionate. Yeah, it's gonna be a very merry Christmas. 

****

The bath water has long since grown cold, although we did our best to keep the bathroom steamed up. Eventually we drifted back to the bed, crawling under the covers and making love once more. Softly, sweetly … our own holiday celebration of our life together. We've gotten wrapped back up in our warm pajamas and are snuggling under the comforter. His chest against my back, his arms wrapped tightly around me, pulling me to him. I feel a sense of incredible happiness. My eyes close and I begin to drift off to sleep when I hear his voice, whispering in my ear. 

"Abby … look. Look out the window." 

I open my eyes and find myself looking out our bedroom window. The moon is high in the sky, giving off just enough light for me to make out the snowflakes lazily drifting down from the sky.

"It's snowing." His voice is filled with wonder and happiness. All I can do is smile as he lays his head next to mine on the pillow and begins to quietly sing, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas. Just like the ones I used to know. Where the treetops glisten and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow …" It's the last thing I hear as I drift off to sleep … 

****

"Mommy!" 

I'm yanked out of too-few hours of sleep by Emily's excited voice. I sit up and bed and look toward our doorway. There are my babies. The girls have obviously gotten Matthew out of his crib and now the three of them stand expectantly at the door. I wave them over and the girls come running and leap on the bed. Matty toddles over in his adorable baby walk, waving his hands up at me when he reaches the bed. "Ma-ma," he says, proud of his speaking ability, as he holds his chubby little arms up to me. 

"Merry Christmas, guys." I say kissing their sleep-tousled heads. 

"Mommy, guess what?"

"What's that, Em?" 

"It snowed."

"It snowed a lot." Alison adds. 

"Really?" I ask. 

"See … I told you, you would get your white Christmas." A sleepy Carter chides, as he sits up, yawning. 

"Daddy, there's so much snow outside. Everything is white." Emmy informs us. 

"The cars are all white and I can't see our yard." Ally says in wonder. 

"And it's still snowing!" Em's very excited by this fact. 

I look outside and sure enough, I can still see big, wet flakes falling from the sky. The tree branches are all covered in the glistening white stuff too. I can imagine what the landscape would look like from my bedroom window, and I know it must be breath-taking. It's a gift. A special surprise Christmas gift to all of us from the gods or mother nature or the local weatherman. A perfect storybook white Christmas in a beautiful snow-covered world. 

"Can we go sledding?" Emmy wants to know.

"I wanna make snowman." Her sister says. 

I listen to my girls making plans for all the fun they are going to have in the snow. And a s I hug my kids close to me, and reach out for Carter's hand, I look out my window at that glorious white world. And I realize that a white Christmas is wonderful. But I also know that now that I was silly to worry about it. I don't need snow to have to perfect Christmas. Everything I need to have a perfect Christmas is right here in this bed with me. My family. As long as we're together, what else do we ever really need? 

"Hey girls," I say, "Do you think Santa was here? Let's go see what he brought." 

With an excited cheer, the girls are off running. John climbs out of bed and leans over to kiss me. He takes the baby from my arms and heads down the stairs to catch up with the girls. I get out of bed, stopping just briefly to glance at my beloved winter wonderland before heading downstairs to join my family for our perfect Christmas. 

****


End file.
